Tuesday, August 29, 2017

Cutting Day

Sifting through Mom's journals again . . .

And/or Alberta

I was feeling a little cross as I changed into my jeans and T-shirt. I had planned a whole day of fun things--like baking and sewing--
Why did I have to be the Joe-Boy around here?
But, of course, I knew the answer to that. If I hadn't been asked to go along I'd have felt a little cheated. Now how can I explain that?
As Max slowed down briefly with the four-wheel-drive, I swung open the door and leaped inside. "You know, one of these days I'm going to miss a step and fall right under this truck of yours!"
Max just laughed and stepped on the gas.
Now what did he mean by that?
In the corral, I was given a whip and posted at the gate.
At the command to open the gate wide, I pushed it very carefully to what I thought was wide.
"Wider!" he yelled.
I flung it wide open. But the cow he wanted to pass through just passed by!
Followed by the whole herd of stampeding Mamas. Now thundering right toward me.
"Head 'em off! Head 'em off!" he yelled.
I headed off for the nearest top rail of the fence and sat there, shaking from the sheer relief of having saved my life.
My irate husband threw his hat on the ground and tried out a few of his 'angry' words, then came quietly over to me and said, "Janie? How are we going to get these cows cut when you're up there?"
I crept slowly back down to the ground, dug my whip out of the churned up dirt and very meekly waited for further instructions.
Surprisingly, the rest of the cutting went very well. Max is a real artist when it comes to cutting cows. He bobs and weaves around, taps one cow on the face and whacks one on the fanny and they just seem to do exactly what he wants.
As for me, I actually faced some of those critters without turning 'mushy'!
As we rode out with the last herd of cows for the last breeding field, we were feeling a little pride in the smoothness of the day's work and I knew Max deserved a little praise.
"That was pretty good cutting we did today," he stated.
"Yes!" My mind groped around for a nice return compliment.
He went on, "You're just about as good as Hansen's dog!"
Yep. A good day.

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My novel, Carving Angels

My Second Novel: Kris Kringle's Magic

About the Mom

Diane was born and raised on one of the last of the great old Southern Alberta ranches. A way of life that is fast disappearing now. Through her memories and stories, she keeps it alive. And even, at times, accurate . . .